


clove pink

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: With a half-smile and a huff, Eddie closes his eyes again, turning onto his back as the sun bakes into his skin. He reaches out for Richie on instinct, but he finds nothing. Furrowing his brow, Eddie sighs, eyes still closed, and turns onto his other side, burying his face in his pillow. Further sightless exploration of Richie’s side of the bed turns up nothing.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 130
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	clove pink

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little (belated) birthday gift for eddie...... oh yeah and also for theo!! happy birthday!!

Most mornings, Eddie wakes up to the screaming of either his alarm or Richie’s — or, on some heinously memorable occasions, both at the same time.

This morning, he wakes up slowly, when he feels something warm on his face. Lifting his hand to push it off, he finds nothing there; he squints instead into sunlight. With a half-smile and a huff, he closes his eyes again, turning onto his back as the sun bakes into his skin. He reaches out for Richie on instinct, but he finds nothing. Furrowing his brow, Eddie sighs, eyes still closed, and turns onto his other side, burying his face in his pillow. Further sightless exploration of Richie’s side of the bed turns up nothing.

Eddie’s a little more awake, now, realizing Richie’s not there. He’s got to push his hair back out of his eyes to actually see, but, when he squints across their king bed, he realizes he actually is alone in it. Richie’s nowhere in sight.

“Rich?” Eddie calls. He hears a clatter in the other room, so he starts to pull back the covers.

“Stay there!” Richie shouts from the other room. Eddie freezes. “I’ll be there in two seconds, okay? Just— Don’t move!”

Eddie hesitates, but he ultimately decides their bed is too comfortable for him to want very much to get out of it, especially when Richie’s telling him to stay put. He shuffles back under the covers, tugging them up nearly up over his face.

He hears their door creak open, just a tiny squeak. The weight shifts on their mattress, but not enough for it to be Richie. Eddie reaches out from his covers and their lap-sized mutt slips right under his fingers.

“Hello, Baby Jane,” Eddie coos, voice barely above a murmur. She noses into his throat before curling up against his chest and yawning, settling in. “Good morning, sweetheart. What’s your dad up to?”

“No good,” Richie says from the doorway. He kicks the door the rest of the way open so he can come in, arms laden a TV tray heavy with breakfast foods. Teetering on the very edge is a glass of water with a single carnation in it. Eddie’s heart kicks into overdrive; he quickly scoots to sit up, clutching Baby Jane to his chest.

“What’ve you done,” Eddie says, more statement than question. “Richie, what— What is this?”

“This, my dear, is breakfast in bed,” Richie tells him, climbing up onto the very end of their bed and crawling up on just his knees, gingerly balancing the tray in his hands. Eddie watches it all sharply with an eye on this as a disaster waiting to happen, but nothing spills. Even the precarious flower stays in place.

“And why is our breakfast in bed and not on the table?” Eddie asks. He frowns, reaching for the alarm clock on their side table, but Richie reaches out and stops his hand with fingers tight around his wrist. “Wait, Richie, what time is it? Isn’t it Wednesday? Shouldn’t we—”

“Shh, Eds,  _ relax,” _ Richie shushes him. “You’re not going to have many more birthdays if you freak out like this every time.”

Oh. “Richie, I still have to go to work even though it’s my birthday.”

“Actually, you don’t,” Richie tells him. He shifts around so he can recline against his pillows next to Eddie, propping the tray up on his own lap.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks. Richie plucks the carnation from the vase and offers it to him.

“I talked to Joey,” Richie says, tucking the stem of the carnation behind Eddie’s ear, threaded through his hair, “and you’re off the hook today. He’s taking your drive.” He examines the pink flower, then says, “You know, you are the  _ only  _ person I know who unironically likes carnations.”

Eddie frowns, undeterred. “Joey took my drive tonight? But he—”

“—Had no  _ idea  _ when your birthday was, and was not particularly excited to find out you’d been working through it all these years,” Richie cuts him off. Eddie turns his face away, but Richie reaches out, takes his chin in his hand, and turns him back. “Hey, why don’t you like your birthday, Eds?”

“It’s not that I don’t  _ like  _ it,” Eddie tells him. He hesitates, then decides to stall, pulling his jaw free from Richie’s grasp so he can turn to grab his glasses off his nightstand. The carnation makes it a little more difficult to slip his glasses on, but he does it without displacing it.

“Well?” Richie asks. He lifts a glass of orange juice off the tray and offers it to Eddie. “What is it, then?” Eddie shrugs.  _ “Eds.” _

“I’ve never had anything to do,” Eddie points out. He takes the glass, thumbing at the slick, cool condensation on the side. “Every year, my mother’s insisted I stay home for dinner with her, so that’s what I’ve done. I don’t have friends to celebrate with, and I’m certainly not going to go out by myself, what’s the point of that?”

“Aw,” Richie mumbles, tugging Eddie in so he can kiss him on the temple. “I’m sorry, Eddie Spaghetti, I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a moment, content to lean into Richie’s side and be comforted for a moment. Then, though, he tells Richie, “It’s okay. I’m glad to be doing something different this year.”

“You want me to call your mom up for dinner?” Richie asks, and Eddie nudges him lightly in the side with his elbow.  _ “Oh,  _ ouch, point taken, you bony little man. Drink your juice.”

Eddie takes a sip of his juice to find out that it is not just juice and is, in fact, a mimosa that is barely juice at all. He wrinkles his nose up before going in for a second sip; Richie laughs and hauls him in to kiss on the cheek.

“What else were you thinking we’d do today?” Eddie asks. “Any ideas?”

_ “Well,”  _ Richie says, dropping his head on Eddie’s shoulder, “I was thinking I’d let you eat your breakfast, and then maybe I’d have  _ mine—” _

“Richie—” Eddie exclaims, twisting from Richie’s grip when Richie drags him in so he can kiss up the column of his throat. Richie cups his head in his hand and wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him in close and trailing a line of wet, dramatically loud kisses up until he reaches his mouth. Eddie only has the one hand to hold his glass steady; Baby Jane  _ whuffs  _ at them for being displaced before heaving herself from Eddie’s lap to the bedspread.

“Mm,” Richie growls, over Eddie’s peals of laughter, “dinner for breakfast.”

“What do you—”

“Eddie Spaghetti, you know me better than that by now, don’t you?” Richie asks, relenting enough to let Eddie nuzzle into his side, rather than vice versa.

“We’re just going to stay home today, then?” Eddie asks.

“Mm,” Richie hums.  _ “Home.  _ Music to my ears when you say it.”

“Rich, honey, will you focus?” Eddie asks.

“I  _ am  _ focused,” Richie tells him. “I’m supposed to be focused on not telling you about dinner ton— Well, I mean, I  _ was—” _

“We’re getting dinner tonight?” Eddie sits up straighter, withdrawing a bit so he can see Richie’s face. “Not… Not with my mother, right?”

“Christ, Eddie,  _ no,  _ of course not,” Richie exclaims. “I didn’t—  _ No,  _ this was me and Stan and Big Bill, we thought you’d maybe like to get dinner with the Losers and me tonight. A nice new birthday tradition, maybe?”

Eddie’s nose burns, the backs of his eyes prickling. Richie pulls back a bit more and frowns, cupping Eddie’s face in his hands.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Eds, I wasn’t— I should’ve asked, you’re right, I feel like a real idiot, I’m sorry, if this isn’t something you want to do—”

“Richie, honey, slow down,” Eddie cuts him off. He sets his glass back on the tray over Richie’s lap and rubs at his face. His hand is still cool and slightly damp from the condensation, and he’s grateful for it; it’s slightly more grounding as he inhales a slow, unsteady breath.

“You okay?” Richie asks. “I really am sorry. I should’ve asked you first.”

“I’m not upset at all,” Eddie tells him urgently. His voice breaks when he says, “Not at  _ all,  _ Richie, I’m just— I’m overwhelmed. I am just— I am very,  _ very  _ overwhelmed right now, and I just— Whoo,” Eddie exhales. He reaches out for Baby Jane and pulls her in, cradling her to his chest and burying his face in the ruff of fur at her neck. Tipping his cheek into her fur, he peeks up at Richie to ask, “How long have you been planning this?”

“Which part?” Richie asks. “Because I had  _ very  _ schmaltzy little fantasies as a kid about bringing you breakfast in bed.”

Eddie’s chest tightens up, heart clenching and racing. He buries his face in Baby Jane’s fur again. “I meant dinner,” he says, voice muffled by their dog.

“Oh,  _ that,”  _ Richie says, too theatrical to be real. “A couple of weeks, just trying to get everyone together. But everyone’ll be there tonight, rest assured, on threat of death.”

_ “Richie,”  _ Eddie admonishes him. He shuffles back around until he can tuck himself into Richie’s side again. Richie drapes his arm across his shoulders, tugging him in close so he can kiss him on the shell of his ear, then near the knob of his jaw.

“God, I love you,” Richie mumbles into his cheek. Eddie smiles, turning his head so he can catch Richie in a soft, slow kiss, warm and soft like the sunlight that woke him up. He still has no idea what time it is.

“I love you,” Eddie breathes, when they separate. “What time is dinner?”

“Oh, not for  _ hours,”  _ Richie says. “I’ll drive us there, you’re not working on your day off—”

“God, no, Richie, that’s a terrible—”

“But until then,” Richie continues, as if Eddie hadn’t even tried to (rightfully) protest, “I was thinking maybe we’d just hang around the house together, just be a couple of lazybones. I can go get us lunch from that deli place with the corned beef you like, and we can watch any movies you want, how’s that? Even those weirdo horror movies you like that scare the bejeesus out of me.”

Eddie’s filled up with sunshine now, baked warm from the inside out. He nuzzles deeper into Richie’s side, holding Baby Jane close to his chest. “That sounds wonderful, Richie. Thank you.”

Richie cups Eddie’s face in his hand and tips his head up for another kiss. Eddie smiles so much into it that they have to separate.

“Thank  _ you,”  _ Richie says. “Thank you  _ for  _ you. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I love you, Eds. Seriously. More than anything, and I mean that. I’d do anything for you.”

Eddie’s heart is pounding so fast he thinks he might actually cry, his eyes burning again. He huffs and buries his face in Richie’s shoulder, this time, sniffling as his chest hitches.

“I love you,” Eddie mumbles into Richie’s sleep shirt. Richie rubs his back, kissing the crown of his head through his snarled mess of bed-head curls, and lets him rest for a while longer before he starts prodding him to eat his oatmeal before it goes cold.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) (new @!) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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